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For 2007 I have resolved to make every single blog about writing.
Okay, no, not really. That would be boring as all get-out. But I
am still a little giddy from my
staggeringly disaster-free latest
effort, so I might do a few more than usual. I mean, it’s not
like anyone’s forced to read them, right? If you’re here for the
cutesy Finlay pics, you can
skip on by, can’t you? Right. And where possible
I will try to relate them to non-writing areas, in order to avoid
disappearing up my own butt.

So. To discipline. I have come to suspect that discipline is a myth.
These elite athletes who train at four in the morning until their
toes bleed; the child violinists who stay locked in their rooms
practicing while all their friends are out doing fun stuff like
drugs and unprotected sex;
we’re supposed to think they’re disciplined.
We’re meant to shake our heads in admiration and say, “Wow, she
really earned it.” But I reckon what they’ve actually been doing
is having a good time and calling it work.

I’ve reached this conclusion because I have no discipline, and I
assume my character flaws are shared by the rest of the world. (The
good parts are just me.) I work from home. There’s nobody stopping
me spending my days browsing girls-with-glasses-having-mudfights.com
instead of writing novels.
The fact that I do manage to squeeze out a new book now and again
is often interpreted as evidence that I must have great discipline.
But I write books because I love it. That’s not discipline, is it?
Isn’t that just being fortunate enough to get paid for recreation?

When I first decided to give full-time writing a shot—before
I was published, by the way, which should tell you how very stupid I
was—I was extremely disciplined. I had daily word targets. I graphed
my progress. If I fell behind, I would berate myself about wasting
precious time. And I did write many words. But I didn’t enjoy it
much, and my output fell off, and the book I was writing turned out to
be a steaming pile of crap, which I never finished.

I bet the same thing happens if you’re trying to become a professional
violinist, or swimmer, or even something more mundane like trying to
get into shape.
Unless you enjoy the process and take pleasure from practicing, you
give up.

Hmm. When I started this blog, I thought it was going to be
kind of inspirational.
You know, about how there’s not that much separating us normal
people from world-class achievers. But now I think about it,
you can also read it as a depressing indictment on how people are
pathetic they can’t achieve anything unless they get lots of
little rewards along the way.

Well, either way.

Note: I didn’t really mean to
skip a whole month of blogs there. Sorry about that. I did get a ton
of writing done, though, and played with my daughter. So, really, can
you complain? I mean, and still sleep at night?